The darkness was thick as ink, swallowing everything whole.
Vivian sat motionless on the icy floor for a long time, long enough for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, allowing her to make out the room's vague shapes—a creaking old iron-frame bed, a toppled, dust-covered wooden chair, a pile of indistinguishable junk in the corner, and that tightly shut door.
The headache gradually receded, replaced by the lingering numbness in her limbs and a throat parched and burning with thirst. Still, she didn't move. She just sat there, breathing shallowly, her ears straining to catch the faintest sound from beyond the door.
No footsteps. No voices. Not even the chirp of an insect. Only the wind's mournful whistle as it forced its way through cracks in the decrepit window frame.
This was no ordinary kidnapping.
If it was for money, her captors wouldn't have dumped her here and ignored her. They'd at least ensure contact with the Winters family for a ransom. If it was for more violent ends, she wouldn't be sitting here unharmed.
Knocking her out, bringing her to this isolated place, taking her phone and belongings, yet not tying her up or inflicting immediate harm… this felt more like "storage." The goal was to make her disappear for a while, to create panic, or… to use her absence to sling mud.
Who would do this? Who had the motive, the means, and knew her schedule?
The answer hovered, almost tangible.
Margaret.
And her foolish, venomous daughter, Katherine.
Only they would resort to such a low, underhanded, yet thoroughly damaging scheme. They didn't want her life. They wanted her reputation. They wanted to destroy the fragile recognition and standing she'd begun to build with Professor Howard and old William. They aimed to hammer "Amelia Winters" back into the mold of the "troublemaker," the "wayward" illegitimate daughter, possibly even "disreputable," until she was driven from the family for good, stripped of any claim to the Winters fortune.
A cold fury surged from her core, but she forced it down just as quickly. Anger solved nothing. Fear was worse.
She had to get back. Before the lies they were weaving could set into truth.
She began to move her limbs. Stiff and sore, but basic strength was returning. Bracing against the wall, she slowly rose to her feet. Her bare soles met the cold, rough floorboards. She edged toward the door without a sound.
It was an ordinary wooden door, aged, with thin panels and an old-fashioned knob lock—engaged from the outside. She tried the interior handle gently. It didn't budge. Pressing her eye to the narrow gap, she saw what seemed to be a hallway, equally shrouded in darkness.
The key to escape might not be the door, but the window.
She turned to the room's sole window. It was small, fitted with rusted iron bars, the glass so grimy it barely let light through. She pushed against it. It seemed either latched from the outside or simply jammed shut from years of neglect. The iron bars were welded solid. No hope of bending them by hand.
Was she meant to rot here?
No. There had to be a way. Vivian retreated to the bed, forcing herself to think calmly. They hadn't bound her. That meant they were either sure she couldn't escape, or… they saw no need. This room itself was the prison.
Her gaze swept the room again, finally settling on the toppled wooden chair and the pile of junk in the corner. Perhaps she could make some noise? Or maybe find something useful?
She crept toward the pile.
Simultaneously, Winters Mansion blazed with light, yet the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
Old William's study had become a makeshift command center. Matthew was already out mobilizing resources. The police had just left after taking initial statements. Professor Howard had called again, his tone grave, stressing that with each passing hour, the situation grew more dire.
Margaret sat on a sofa, a handkerchief pressed to the corner of her eye, looking drawn and anxious. Katherine sat beside her, face also pale, stealing occasional glances at her father's livid expression.
"Sir," one of Matthew's assistants hurried in to report, "preliminary feedback from traffic cameras. The gray sedan left the Upper East Side heading out of the city. It was lost at an intersection with no coverage. The model is too common. The plates were likely cloned or fake. Tracking it will take time."
Old William slammed a fist on the desk. "Useless! A grown woman vanishes into thin air in the middle of New York City?!"
Margaret chose that moment to let out a sob. "It's all my fault… my poor planning… If I hadn't sent George to Long Island, if I hadn't dispatched that wretched backup car… Amelia would never have… never have…" She broke down, weeping.
Katherine hurried to comfort her mother, her own voice tearful. "Mother, don't blame yourself like this! How could it be your fault? If anyone… if anyone is to blame, it's Sister for being so careless. How could she just get into a stranger's car…" She trailed off, as if suddenly remembering something, shooting a hesitant, fearful look at Old William.
"What is it?" Old William's sharp gaze pinned her.
"I… it's nothing…" Katherine lowered her head, fingers twisting the fabric of her dress.
"Speak!" Old William's voice brooked no refusal.
Katherine flinched, stammering, "I… I just remembered… recently… I overheard some of the staff whispering… that Sister… Sister seemed a bit off lately…"
"Off how?" Old William pressed.
Margaret also looked up, as if suddenly recalling. "William, there's something… I wasn't sure if I should mention it. I thought with Amelia just back and working so hard, perhaps we were being overly suspicious. But now, with this happening… Carlsen, bring in the three maids assigned to Amelia's rooms."
Soon, Anna, Lillian, and Bella filed into the study, trembling. All three looked dreadful. Anna and Lillian's eyes were red and swollen from crying.
"Master, Madam," they curtsied in unison.
Margaret spoke in a weary, gentle tone. "We called you in to ask—as you attend to Miss Amelia closely, have you noticed any… unusual behavior lately? Or heard her mention any particular person, any particular matter? Any detail might help find her."
Anna and Lillian exchanged a glance, both shaking their heads vehemently.
Anna spoke first, urgency in her voice. "Madam, the young miss has been perfectly normal. Every day it's just studying, attending lessons, taking notes. Her routine is very strict. She's completely focused on her studies, even reading law journals in her spare time. She never mentioned any particular person." Her voice hitched. "How could she be missing? She was fine when she left this afternoon…"
Lillian nodded vigorously, fresh tears falling. "Yes, Madam. The young miss is so kind, so good to us. She wouldn't just run off… She must have met with villains! Please, Master, Madam, you must find her quickly!"
The two maids' genuine distress seemed unfeigned. Old William studied their faces for a moment, then turned his attention to Bella, who had kept her head bowed, appearing even more timid.
"Bella? You're responsible for her dressing room and the parlor. Have you noticed anything?"
Bella gave a slight shiver. She looked up, eyes darting, her voice a thin whisper. "M-master… I… I don't know if I should say…"
"Out with it!" Old William's patience was threadbare.
Bella seemed terrified. She dropped to her knees with a thud, a pleading whine in her voice. "Master, have mercy! I… I'm not really sure either… It's just… once, when I was tidying an old desk drawer for the young miss, I accidentally… accidentally saw a business card, and… and a photograph cut out from a magazine…"
"What business card? What photograph?" Margaret leaned forward, her voice urgent.
"Th-the card… it said a law firm… in the neighboring city, I think called 'Hamilton & Something'… The photo… it was of a very young gentleman, quite handsome. There was a small caption underneath, something like… 'Hamilton family heir, noted socialite'…" Bella's voice dwindled to almost nothing. "I… I didn't think much of it at the time. Thought it was just study material for the young miss… so I put it back. Later… later I think I even overheard the young miss on the phone once, speaking very low, saying things like 'meet up,' 'not convenient,' 'contact again later'…"
Dead silence filled the study.
Hamilton & Something? Neighboring city? Old William's brow furrowed tightly. The name rang a faint, unpleasant bell. A firm known for aggressive tactics, exorbitant fees, and considerable controversy. As for that "Hamilton family heir"—a regular in the gossip columns, a notorious playboy with a trashy reputation.
Margaret drew a sharp breath, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes wide with "sudden realization" and "heartbreak." "You don't mean… Amelia she… she's involved with that… that person? No, it can't be… Amelia can be willful, but she's not that foolish! She's been studying law so diligently, could it be… could it be just to get closer to that circle faster? Or… has that playboy sweet-talked her, deceived her?"
She turned to Old William, tears streaming. "William! If it's true… how foolish that child must be! Was she too impatient? Too desperate to prove herself, to make her mark, that she'd be taken in by such a man? I… as her mother, I noticed nothing! I've failed completely!"
She wept with convincing anguish, each word a hammer blow to Old William's nerves, already frayed with worry.
The anxiety over his missing daughter fused with the shame and fury of potentially having a daughter who'd "throw herself away," who might have "eloped," shattering Old William's composure. He shot to his feet, his face purplish, a vein throbbing at his temple.
"Investigate! Look into that Hamilton firm! Find out about that son's recent movements! See if they've had any contact with Amelia!" His voice shook with rage. "Double the search parties. Comb every inch along the routes out of the city! Turn New York upside down if you have to, but find that disgraceful girl and bring her back!"
"Yes, sir!" the assistant stammered, rushing out.
Anna and Lillian turned ashen. They wanted to defend their mistress, but in the face of the master's terrifying wrath, no words came. They could only weep silently, helplessly.
Bella knelt on the floor, trembling violently.
Margaret held Katherine, weeping. But behind her lowered lids, a sliver of cold, triumphant light glinted.
Perfect. The seed of doubt was sown, and it was sprouting wildly in exactly the direction they wished. Now, they just needed to "find" Amelia, and have her "coincidentally" linked to something sordid…
Katherine leaned into her mother's embrace, feeling the slight tremor in her body (this time from excitement), a twisted thrill coursing through her. *Amelia, let's see you wriggle out of this one.
Meanwhile, in the derelict room far out in the suburbs, Vivian's hands closed around a section of rusted but still solid iron pipe and a few broken bricks from the junk pile.
She tested the pipe's weight in her hand, then looked again at the flimsy wooden door and the rust-sealed window.
A cold, grim smile slowly curved the corners of her mouth.